


The Pack Rat Gene

by Venticelli



Series: Mama [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: Childhood, Gen, mother - Freeform, mothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venticelli/pseuds/Venticelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's (Twisty's) mother sorts through some old things while her son sleeps soundly. Contemplating the life she thought she'd have and the life she got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pack Rat Gene

The house was quiet, her son having long since gone to bed, but Margery sat awake, sorting through a dusty, old, box she’d found down in the basement. The mold had made her nose itch, but it did nothing to make her any sleepier. She’d tried and failed at sleeping, so she figured that she might as well use the time to be productive, and if that meant going through boxes in the basement then so be it. It was either that or just leave them there indefinitely. Had she been able to sleep she figured those boxes would stay down there until man colonized the entire solar system.

The box had been filled mostly with what she considered to be junk. Things that had broken but that she hadn’t had the heart to throw away in hopes of repairing them. Bits and pieces of paper with notes and other scribbles on them. She could only hope that Sam didn’t end up inheriting such pack rat behavior. The house was already fully supplied with odds and ends that nobody else wanted, and that included the tiny family that lived there. Perhaps, that was why Marge clung so desperately to the rubbish. It was hard to part with things one identified so strongly with, after all. They weren’t bad or useless. They just needed a little love and care. It was just a matter of other people believing that. Maybe just one other person. Maybe just her.

However, at the bottom of the box was something else. It’s smooth cover had a thick layer of dust on top of it, and the moment the woman laid eyes on it she felt her stomach twist into knots. It was a photo album, and there was only one of those that she knew would have been hidden away. Hesitantly she opened it up, finding within its pages the very things she had been dreading. 

In amongst the newspaper clippings and love letters were a few photographs from the day she’d married James, Sam’s father. The one that drew her attention the most was the picture of them standing side by side and holding hands, looking straight into the camera. And even through the stiffness of their poses she could still remember the joy and elation that day had brought. Marrying the man of her dreams and settling down into a little house in a little town where they could start to make their lives. How excited she had been on that day and how optimistic…thinking back on it now made her feel sick, and before she could stop it a terrible thought struck her.

What if she’d chosen James over her son? What if she had clung to the idea that nothing was going to get in the way of her dreams on that day?

Such a horrid idea, and she cursed herself for it. Things weren’t easy, but they were better. The man she had loved once had shown his true colors those years ago, and she didn’t miss them. When Sam had shown the tiniest signs of being not exactly what he had dreamed him to be he had jumped ship. There were few things a man could do to seem weaker in Marge's eyes than to abandon his family, especially when they had needed him so desperate.y No, to choose him over herself and her child? She wouldn’t entertain the thought a moment longer.

Still, she couldn’t help but admire the photo for a little while longer. Drawing her fingers gingerly over the glossy image of the man’s face, she was reminded just how much her little boy looked like his father. The eyes especially, uncommonly clear and focused, but the longer she stared at the photograph the more differences she could see. His ears were hers and his nose as well, but the gentleness and the curiosity in Sam’s eyes was something entirely his.

He wasn’t just James’ son. He was hers as well. His father didn’t have that “pack rat” trait, but that wasn’t particularly a good thing. The man couldn’t hold onto anything; he didn’t have faith or perseverance. Marge managed to break her gaze from the picture and turned it to the menagerie of items laid out in front of her. She had faith though. She didn’t give up, and if Sam had it in him as well, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.


End file.
